Roll The Dice
by B.T. Gunker
Summary: A three part story about the Casino Level in Blood Money with multiple POV's. COMPLETE. R&R please.
1. Hendrik Schmutz

**The Supremacist**

_Hendrik Schmutz_ sat at the bar in the Shamal hotel and casino.

And he was nervous.

He was holding a suitcase full of illegal DNA specimen's in his hotel room and also had intent to sell them illegally. What if a cop needed to search his suitcase? What if the Sheikh had him frisked and found the gun on him? Even worse, what if the Sheikh decided to say "To hell with the deal!" and just shot him and took the specimens. He ran through each scenario in his head, and didn't like any of them.

He began to ponder the bright the side after sweating out his fear. He was going to be a very rich man if it all went smoothly. Any moment now the Sheikh would arrive with his scientist and a suitcase full of blood diamonds, worth approximately 14.5 million dollars. No more slums, no more illegality, no more South Africa. It would all be smooth sailing once he got those diamonds.

Feeling relived, he headed to the bathroom to get another relief. Afterwards, while still in the privacy of his stall, he took his gun from his jacket pocket and admired it. A silenced Sig-Sauer p22, it was a beauty if he did say so himself.

After returning from the bathroom, he went over to one of the large, intimidating Arabians guarding the entrance to the room the Sheikh had scheduled the transaction for. The men were all atleast 6'3, clad in sunglasses and muscular. The fully loaded and readied MP5's each carried didn't exactly detract from their frightening presence either.

"If the Sheikh gets here before I return, tell him I went my room to get the specimens. My room is 707."

The suit-clad Arabian simply nodded.

Unfortunately, someone much more dangerous took much more interest in the conversation…

**The Assassin**

A few feet away a man carrying a suitcase with a bald head and fine Italian suit had been eaves dropping on the conversation.

He was known to the reception woman under the pseudonym _Cornelius Cropes_ (an anagram of 'corpse' quite clever in his mind). But in reality his name was only _Agent 47_, and everyone who knew it was either dead or working with him. He ran over his list of tools mentally in his head. Plastic explosives, a Silenced AMT Hardballer, a W2000 Sniper Rifle in his suitcase, and his trademark fiber-wire garrote.

"More than enough to handle an old man, a scientist, and a white supremacist." he whispered to himself

It was time to move, he was intent at heading off Schmutz at the elevator.

**The Supremacist, Part Two**

Hendrik entered the elevator after calming his nerves. Unfortunately, it would be the biggest mistake (and the last mistake) he ever made.

Hendrik examined the elevator. He always tried to make sure he was aware of his surroundings. He hated surprises. Looking up, he discovered a missing tile in the top of the elevator. He sighed, the maintenance of some American establishments was disappointing.

"Gross. That's basically a fucking invitation for rats to get in."

These would be his last words.

One second later, he felt something around his throat, ever so lightly. Again, before he knew it, the sensation on his throat tightened. Two seconds later he was choking, coughing, and wheezing. Half a second later the room was going black. Another half second later, He reached in his pocket, fumbling for the gun. Another second, he looked up in an attempt to see if he could identify his killer and by some miracle aim for his head. All he saw was a bald head, and cold, crystal eyes. His world went black, and the grip on his gun loosened. A final second later he dropped his gun, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Two gloved hands hoisted him up to the top of the elevator, and laid him on the top.

In seven seconds flat, Hendrik Schmutz was dead.

The man behind the icy, blue eyes, Agent 47, hopped down in to the elevator. After tossing Schmutz's dropped gun to the top of the elevator, he replaced the tile and was on his way.


	2. Tariq Abdul Lateef

**The Scientist**

Tariq Abdul Lateef sat in the back of his limo an excited man.

He thought about how soon he and his good friend Sheikh Muhammad Ben Faisal Al-Khalifa would put their joint company, APEX on the map. With the DNA specimens they would soon purchase from a client named Hendrik Schmutz, they would produce medicines the world over.

Suddenly the limo came to a halt, and a few seconds later a large Arabian man had stuck his head into the back of the limo.

"We're here Mr. Lateef. We will acompyaning you to the elevator if you wanted?"

Tariq couldn't help but laugh on the inside at the poor Arabian's attempt at speaking a second language

"Certainly, Abu. Give me a second to make sure I have everything."

Tariq made sure his jacket was on straight, and clothes were unwrinkled. He looked at the black suitcase full of diamonds, making sure it was tightly fastened. And last but not least, he reached into his bright green jacket and pulled a pistol from it. He examined it, **M9 **was written in big letters on the side of the gun, in front of a large amount of model numbers he didn't care about. He was a scientist and not a gun enthusiast.

As he made his way he through the lobby, a large bearded man on either side of him, he got his keycard from the reception desk and rushed to the elevator. His child-like excitement had him in a hurry, this was his first step in becoming a millionaire.

"Thank you for the escort, Abu." He said to his bodyguard as he entered the elevator.

"Yes. Be safe." said Abu as nodded and walked away to let his friend enter the elevator.

Whilst in the elevator, Tariq flipped open his cellphone to give a quick call to his friend Mohammad.

"Hello?" said a deep voice on the other end of the line

"Mohammad! It is your good friend Tariq. I have the diamonds, and I'm headed up to my room, brother!"

"Excellent! The exchange is set for 10:30. If you need to contact me, please come see me in the casino. Phone calls aren't allowed, and the roof is quite a few flight of stairs away. I'm out of shape these days."

"Ha ha, I see. Not a problem, next time we speak will be in the Casino. Be seeing you then."

"See you then, my friend."

As Tariq closed his phone and the elevator reached his floor, Tariq closed his phone and headed into his room, room 807.

As Tariq sat in his bed, he realized he had never felt so secure. He had three guards at the door, one in his living room, and even he himself were strapped with a gun as he relaxed in his bedroom. There wasn't a thing in the world that could hurt him right now.

Or so he thought…

**The Assassin, Part Two**

As 47 exited the elevator, he scoured the halls for fifteen or so minutes, looking for a lead on where Lateef might be.

Finally, he encountered a portly man in the hallway, with an official Shamal hotel and casino uniform, red jacket and all.

"Excuse me, sir!" the portly man stopped in his tracks

"Yes, how may I help you?"

47 looked at what appeared to be a date-book in his jacket pocket.

"My name is Dr. Cropes, and I can't seem to figure out what room my good friend Dr. Lateef is staying in. Could you help me out, sir?"

"No problem at all… Dr. Cropes was it?"

The man took the datebook from his pocket and used his large fingers to sift through pages.

"Here we are! Lateef, Tariq Abdul" he read "Room 807."

"Thank you so much, I'll make my way to see him right now."

"No problem at all, sir."

In a flash 47 was gone. On a 7th floor balcony he found a small ledge and pulled himself up to the next floor. After a few seconds of ledge-shimmying, and careful ducking by windows, he was on Lateef's balcony.

As he always did naturally, he surveyed his surroundings; Lateef was on in the bedroom behind a closed door that was a few feet from the balcony door. A single guard resided in the living room, facing away from the door 47 would enter.

After dropping his rifle briefcase on the balcony, 47 slowly creaked the balcony door open and then, in one swift motion, moved from the balcony to the guard facing away from him and jammed a syringe into his neck as a gloved hand muffled his cry for help. The man would wake up 7 hours later, cursing 47.

With only a thin door between 47 and Lateef, 47 removed his AMT Hardballer from the holster under his jacket.

He pushed the door open quickly, catching Lateef completely by surprise! He raised his weapon and fired three shots instinctively; the bullets ripped in to Lateef's gut and chest. Lateef slumped down in his bed. 47 hated surprises and as such did not lower his weapon. He fired one more round in to Lateef's head, now satisfied with his kill. Using low velocity ammunition and the best suppressor money could buy, he was confident no one had heard the commotion.

47 finally took a breath and his slight nervousness fell from him.

"Two down. One to go." He thought to himself as he holstered his pistol.


	3. Mohammad Ben Faisal AlKhalifa

**The Sheikh**

"Hello?" said Mohammad.

"Mohammad! It is your good friend Tariq. I have the diamonds, and I'm headed up to my room, Brother!" A high-voiced Arabian on the other line said.

"Excellent! The exchange is set for 10:30. If you need to contact me, please come see me in the casino. Phone calls aren't allowed, and the roof is quite a few flights of stairs away; I'm out of shape these days." Mohammad patted his pot belly that came with age as he spoke into the phone.

"Ha ha, I see. Not a problem, next time we speak will be in the Casino. Be seeing you then." said Tariq.

"See you then, my friend." Was Mohammad's reply as he exited his limousine and opened the immaculate glass double-doors to the Shamal Hotel and Casino. He couldn't help but admire the allure and attraction of the building as he made his way to the casino section of the Shamal. Once he had arrived, he experienced a different kind allure as he watched scantily-clad women pass out alcohol to all the men and women trying to make or break the bank at the slot machine and craps tables.

He approached the two Arabs guarding the double-doors to his reserved private tables at the back of the Casino. "Where is the seller?" he questioned in Arabic. Naturally, the Arab answered in his native tongue as well, "He's getting the specimens. Room 707." With a nod and sigh Mohammad asked for a drink to be brought to him as he took his seat at a table with a reserved sign clearly marked 'Mohammad Ben Faisal Al-Khalifa - Party of Five.'

After several minutes of waiting and drinking a new, colorful drink for the first time (the Americans referred to it as Hypnotiq, he was beginning to truly love America) Mohammad's phone rang. He examined the caller I.D.-'Tariq'. "Goddamn you Tariq. I told you not to call." He sighed to himself as he pushed open the exit doors behind the last table in the reserved section and started his way up the long flight of stairs to the roof.

**The Assassin, Part Three**

47 felt a gentle calm wash over him as placed his pistol snugly back into its holster. His mission was almost done, and it wouldn't be long until the money was wired into his account and he was allowed to go 'home'. As much a home as an assassin can have, anyway.

As far as he could know Mohammad was still in the casino. He tried his best to think of a plan, but Al-Khalifa seemed untouchable. Surely he was heavily guarded and security would be very particular about who got in to see him. Maybe 47 could signal him out? No way, that would be impossible; or so he thought.

47 peered at the table next the corpse of Lateef, a cellphone! 47 had learned through his long career that if something was too good to be true, it usually was. But, despite his instincts this seemed to be real. He grabbed the cellphone and punched a few numbers with gloved fingers. As he did this, he looked out Lateef's bedroom window; There was the roof to the casino.

"No calls allowed in Casinos" he said to himself "Have to go to the roof. Hmm."

Finally, after pressing some more buttons-'calling… Mohammad Al-Khalifa'- appeared on the screen of the phone as 47 gave an odd mix between a grimace and a grin. He wore a grimace for the fact that he was about to snuff out another life, and he was numb. A grin for his brilliant plan.

As he put down the phone he dropped to his knees and popped open his suitcase. He assembled his Walther WA200 sniper quickly but carefully, screwing on the long barrel which was made more sleek by the suppressor, attaching the scope, and finally clicking the clip into place near the back of the gun. He opened the window that stared out onto the casino roof and stood by it, ready to take aim with his weapon. For a split second he almost let the barrel of the gun poke out of the window, a rookie mistake, but quickly corrected himself.

After a minute or two Mohammad knocked open the exit door to the roof with force as he held the phone to his ear and stared down at the ground, obviously angry that his friend had gone against his wishes and called him.

47 stared at his sunglasses-decorated face through scope and zoomed in on his chest. The reticule shook slightly from his unsteady hand, but he held his breath and the shaking stopped, enabling him to deliver death with pinpoint accuracy. He squeezed the trigger and a second later Mohammad fell and landed on his back. Physics made his now dead weight dominant as he collapsed back gasping for air.

Blood sprayed from his chest; his life flashed before him. In an instant he had ran through his childhood all the way to his earlier conversations with Tariq. He coughed up one more mouthful of blood and collapsed.

Mohammad Bin Faisal Al-Khalifa was dead.


End file.
